


bone(r) apple tea

by gizamalukesgrotto



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Top Prompto, au where ardyn is also a road trip tagalong, don't read if hungry, established promdyn, established promnis, graphic depictions of food but not in a kinky way, largely canon divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:33:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21999793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gizamalukesgrotto/pseuds/gizamalukesgrotto
Summary: The crisp snap of the blade onto the chopping block is unbecoming for a chef of Ignis’ caliber. “Leave Prompto out of this.”“He’d be the perfect little specimen for the bet.”Ignis places the knife down with more care than he thinks himself capable of in the moment, all things considered. When he turns to face Ardyn, the campfire sends a fiery glare across his glasses. “If I win, I’ll never hear of this again, and you’ll fend for yourself at every meal even if you must hunt, skin, and gut it yourself.”“And if I win, well--” Ardyn smirks, the curl of his lip like a page begging to be turned,  “winning is savory enough for me.”
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Ardyn Izunia, Prompto Argentum/Ignis Scientia
Kudos: 50





	bone(r) apple tea

**Author's Note:**

> Commission for H.  
> "Ardyn is another road trip bro. Ignis and Ardyn compete with each other to see who can spoil Prompto the most with food."

The Malmalam Thicket is barren with winter, its towering trees shed to naught but the memory of what once was and what will be again. Outside the warmth of the tent, the chill morning air is calm, but promises something harsh to come in its bitter stillness. 

Still, atop the hill on their sacred little haven, Prompto thinks it’s a beautiful sight. The height at which they set camp views the valley below; the streams are quiet and ice-cold, where only fiends brave enough for its temperature roam to drink and graze. The light hits the trees just right, and all at once they are alight with a muted gold - it is the moment Prompto’s been waiting for, and he whips his camera to his face, entranced by the world within the viewfinder.

 _Click. Wind. Click. Wind._ His finger hovers over the shutter again, but stills when he feels familiar arms snake around him. “Morning, Iggy,” Prompto lowers his camera. The mug of coffee Ignis hands him is sweetened just to Prompto’s liking, made sweeter by the affectionate kiss placed to his neck by Ignis’ lips. 

“At least someone else out of this lot is a morning person,” Ignis hums. Prompto hears it in his voice, the way Ignis savors the quiet start of the day, the way the sun begins to warm the earth with gentle light and soft shadows. 

“Started to be just ‘cuz of you, y’know.”

“Don’t let Gladio know. He thought it was the enticement of his morning jogs that turned you into a creature of the sunrise.”

Prompto snorts. “As if.” His cheeks pinken behind his scarf. “I used to just say yes so it’d give me an excuse to see you earlier without it being obvious.”

Ignis presses his lips to Prompto’s, firm and long. “How’d that end up working out for you?”

Prompto hums. “Pretty good, I think.”

In their own private little orbit together, Prompto and Ignis watch the world wake. Not a sound comes from the tent fifty yards some behind them, not a rustle, not a voice. Noctis and Gladio are asleep; Ardyn is set to meet them later for the hunt and is scheduled to crash with them that eve. As it should be. Ignis liked it far better when the once-Chancellor of Insomnia wasn’t fawning over something too precious to dispose of. The whims of a man like that are too unpredictable; though Ignis must admit it was Ardyn who acted as the final push Ignis needed to tell Prompto how he felt. Without the looming threat of Prompto being taken by another, Ignis realizes he was like to just pine until they both rotted.

“This tastes different,” Prompto says, breaking Ignis from his thoughts.  
  
“Different good, I hope,” Ignis tests. 

“No--no, yeah, I mean. It’s really good.” 

“The coffee is grown by the nomads in Northern Cleigne; once a month they travel to sell their roasts at the market in Lestallum.” A beat, then, “You’d mentioned once before you liked the coffee at the Leville. I asked the bellhop where it was from during our last stay.”

When Prompto sips it again, it warms him in ways it had not before. With his free hand he holds Ignis’, noting the way he has yet to don his gloves, again.  
“Y’know, I’ve come a long way from living off cup noodles and gatorade,” he muses. Ignis nuzzles into Prompto’s scarf, and Prompto can feel the smile even through the fabric.

“The best is yet to come.”

-

The fiend falls with a mighty blow and a low, rumbling sound that shakes the earth upon its death throes. Around the five warriors, the air smells of gunfire and lightning. Noctis and Gladio remain breathless, spread out amongst the brush. Ignis plucks his spectacles from the ground near his feet, and Ardyn adjusts his fedora, letting the shadow of it hide his grimace. The only one of the five that seemed to come out of it unscathed and chipper is Prompto, who spins his pistol with a practiced precision heightened by the joy of the kill. 

“Not too shabby, if I say so myself,” Prompto smirks. Gladio brushes off debris from his pants, and Noct waves away the Engine Blade back into thin air as though it were a troublesome fly.

“How’d you do that?” Noct asks. He’s not exactly annoyed, not exactly impressed. The hunt had tried all of them for what felt like too long. Prompto shrugs, but it’s Ardyn who responds, his movements liquid-like in grace and ease.

“Don’t look a gift chocobo in the mouth, gentlemen. Our mark is felled, and soon, our wallets full. Let us thank each other later. Oh, Ignis?” Ardyn turns to the advisor, his eyes shadowed by the hat from the midday sun, “Take us back to our humble abode you call camp.”

“On the contrary,” Ignis retorts, tossing Ardyn the keys, “It’s your turn to drive.”

The road back up the mountain pass is long and winding. Noctis spends it sleeping; Gladio spends it pointedly ignoring Ardyn while in shotgun; Prompto and Ignis speak quietly over the sound of the wind and low guitar rifts Ardyn sourced from the radio. 

“Impressive,” Ignis comments. He laces his hands in Prompto’s, noting the way he feels Ardyn’s eyes on them in the rearview mirror. “The new gun suits you well.”

“Its recoil nearly put me on my ass,” Prompto laughs. “But yeah, definitely what we needed to bring that thing down.”

A bump in the road wakes Noctis, and he makes some very un-princely sound before murmuring. “m’Hungry...what’s for dinner, Specs?”

“As is per usual, winner’s blow calls the shots. Whatever Prompto wants.”

Prompto smiles. Something about those last three words is feeling increasingly comfortable as of late, and he isn’t mad about it.

“I like that green curry you make. It’s a good day for it.”

“So it shall be,” Ignis replies. Gently, Ignis kneads Prompto’s trigger-hand in his own. The tendons are firm beneath his touch, and with precision, he works at them for the rest of the drive. “We’ve everything we need for it already. And what we don’t grows ‘round the camp.”

“Whatever you make is perfect, Iggy.”

“Rather, whatever you want is such, Prompto.”

“Can’t tell if it’s the two of you or Ardyn’s driving that’s making me car sick,” Noctis sighs next to them.

If Ignis and Prompto hear it, they choose not to respond. 

When they reach camp, the sun is just low enough before the night-daemons see fit to prowl the tail-end of dusk. Their safe haven is a welcome sight, lit by a glow of blue glyphs to ward off predators with the ancient magicks. Ignis smiles as they head towards the tent still waiting for them, all as they left it.

The hunt has rejuvenated him; where the rest of the crew drags their feet from the Regalia to the site, Ignis feels a spike of adrenaline, ignited further by Prompto’s dinner request. Noctis, Prompto and Gladio head to the hot springs snaking below the camp’s plateau, and Ignis preps the ingredients.

Coconut milk, lime leaves, basil, chickatrice legs, shallot, and peppers. It’s not terribly involved but packs a flavor that would send the most worldly man on his ass. Simple but vibrant, the dish is something Ignis has gravitated to as a comfort food before this journey began. Once he learned what a liking Prompto took to it, it became his go-to whenever the gunman deserved a good, hearty meal. And with Ignis’ growing fondness for Prompto as of late, that seemed to be more often than not. 

There’s just something so...magnetic about pleasing Prompto. With Noctis, it is Ignis’ duty to constantly strive for greater, for better; with Noctis, nothing should ever be enough, and Ignis is happy to keep climbing with no end in sight. But with Prompto, it gives Ignis a rush to please him, a great satisfaction to call it a job well done - a rush he keeps coming back to like a moth to flame. 

At the table, in the bedroom… making Prompto happy never gets stale.

Ignis smiles to himself as he begins to chop the peppers; the memory of Prompto’s face when he first tasted this very dish months ago is exactly the expression that brings Ignis back to cooking, again and again. Where Noctis plays hard to get ( _this one’s almost it, Iggy; this is pretty good; not quite, but I’ll bite_ ), and Gladio would eat a rock if it was sauteed in enough oil and butter, it’s Prompto’s unabashed joy for Ignis’ cooking that keeps Ignis thinking of what to create next.

It would be at a time like this - the peaceful quiet of kitchen prep Ignis so savors - that Ardyn chooses to hover over his shoulder. 

“I don’t see what fun you find in this, Scientia,” Ardyn’s tone is almost mournful as he peers over Ignis to the modest table of ingredients. “Digging through the dirt to scrape together a meal for men who hardly savor it at all.”

Ignis focuses his energy on the knife slicing the peppers with a precision that would make a master chef weep. “You know them not,” Ignis retorts. “The food prepared by my hand is what keeps the lot of them happy and most importantly, healthy.”

Would that it could be enough to shut Ardyn up. 

“It can’t be any better than the cuisines prepared at any of the fine restaurants dotted all along Eos.”

“Oh?” Ignis laughs, perhaps chops the next round of peppers with a bit more fervor than he would if Ardyn weren’t here. “If that’s the case, I’m certainly happy to make one less helping. Or at least, divvy that up among the rest of us.”

“And leave a poor man hungry?”

“If a man so wishes it.” Ignis pauses, turns to eye Ardyn in the lantern light. “Which he has so implied.” 

“Certainly I did not think my words would leave me without supper. Allow me to rephrase - if I absolutely must eat, and there is no other means at which to do so, then I can be swayed into stomaching your cooking for but an evening.”

Ignis would never hold a knife improperly, but oh, does his grip tighten further on the handle lest he fly off his. Does that coeurl grin ever leave Ardyn’s face? It spikes irritation in Ignis he thinks ungraceful of him; as though every word Ardyn says is a hand that pets a cat the wrong way. “I’ll never deny a hungry mouth at the same table of his highness; but I do suggest you watch yours.”

Ardyn grins. Ignis knows it’s exactly what Ardyn wanted; to get a rise out of him. Unfortunately there are fewer ways to do so than to prod at the ego surrounding Ignis’ cooking. “How about a bet, hm? Oh, this’ll be a fun one, I think. We let the boys decide themselves - or, rather. One of them.” A beat, and then, “Prompto.”

The crisp snap of the blade onto the chopping block is unbecoming for a chef of Ignis’ caliber, but Ardyn wears down the bones of his patience til it is naught but dust. “Leave Prompto out of this.”

“He’d be the perfect little specimen for the bet.” 

“His palate is hardly developed.”

“And so you seek to limit him to only what _you_ dictate for every meal?”

“He _likes my cooking_.”

“And he’ll like where I take him in turn. I’m a man of many tastes. Perhaps you know this, and that’s exactly why you fight it so.”

Ignis places the knife down on the camp table with more care than he thinks himself capable of in the moment. When he turns to face Ardyn, the campfire sends a fiery glare across his glasses. “If I win, I’ll never hear of this again, and you’ll fend for yourself at every meal even if you must hunt, skin, and gut it yourself.”

“And if I win, well--” Ardyn smirks, the curl of his lip like a page begging to be turned, “winning is savory enough for me.”

\---

The Galdin Quay Hotel is the quintessential staple of ostentatious luxury throughout Lucis. At a whopping ten-thousand-gil a night, only the most elite of the elite can afford the expense, and the accommodations understate themselves for no one. The rooms boast magnificent gilded furniture - Lucian Kingsize beds, gold-leaf chairs, and ivory coffee tables ornament the spotless hardwood floors, and the washrooms glisten with marble pouring into wide-mouthed tubs. Floor-to-ceiling windows view the crystal coast, and the crisp line of the sea meeting the horizon; in the distance, if one squints long enough, one can spot the gnarled cliffs of the island of Angelgard to the east.

It is, indeed, the ideal getaway for two who are looking for the picture-perfect place to be alone.

“You close?”

“By the six--Prompto, please, slow down.”

“Not a chance. You feel way too fucking good, Ardyn. Fuck, I love it when you get like this.”

They’ve been fucking for hours at this point. The black cockring nestled lovingly over Ardyn’s erection does little to stave off an orgasm Prompto’s been teasing at for half the day. Next to the bed, the windows are open, letting in the salty air of the sea that melds with the scent of their sex. Ardyn’s moan that follows is music to Prompto’s ears, has been every time he’s milked them from the older man’s throat since they began. So beautifully expressive in bed, where they explore this side of their dynamic not typical of their repertoire outside of closed doors. Here, their deep-seated desires come to life, and the cost is simple: Ardyn pays for the room, Prompto rewards him with a thorough, relaxing day of marathon sex.

“Every inch of you feels made for me, Prompto.” 

“Take it all. It’s all for you.” Prompto's alabaster body, dotted with freckles and glistening with sweat, trembles with a delectable flush. He’s getting close too, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s come in Ardyn’s ass that day. Prompto feels the leftovers of his last several orgasms with each thrust, slicking Ardyn’s tight hole like a custom-made fuck toy. And normally, this would be; Prompto remembers clearly his days in Insomnia, filling up his fleshlight with his insatiable cock and pumping it uselessly with load after load until eventually he was emptied and his lust could quell for the day.

That was commonplace for him, once before: A fiery lust, and no outlet save for the measley sex toys that never could measure to the perfect ass Prompto’s cock has found home within here and now. It definitely beats jerking off into plastic, Prompto thinks, smirking to no one but himself as he fucks Ardyn into the pillows. An obscene, wet, suction-like sound escapes their rut as Prompto thrusts particularly deep, and Ardyn chokes out another low, gorgeous moan in tandem with Prompto’s past loads spilling forth at the force of his sex. 

“Good?” Prompto tightens his grip on Ardyn’s waist, where he feels the man’s abdomen tense beneath his grip. “You like how I fuck you like this? Nice and wet for me. Fuck.” His voice is lower now, husky and curled at the edges with his smirk. The headspace Prompto snaps into when they fuck takes off like a gunshot cracking into the summer sky, shattering the clouds, sending him into a ferality he’s felt denied for so long. “Need you to cum for me, baby.”

“I mustn’t. I want this to last forever, Prompto, I-- _gods_ .” Ardyn’s hands grip the pillows and he chokes out a “ _yes_ ” from where his face lies buried in the overstuffed down pillows, the saliva from his slack-jawed euphoria dampening the linen. His olive skin and cabernet hair glisten with sweat and Ardyn looks like an oil painting of the most forbidden and yet most holy debauchery, on full display in a museum meant only for the devils.

“If you come,” Prompto goads over the sound of his hips meeting Ardyn’s ass over and over again, “I’ll let you take me out later.” 

And that’s all it takes. That, and another good few loving thrusts with a roll of Prompto’s hips, and Ardyn spills into the sheets. Prompto feels it in the way the older man tightens around him, impossibly tight, impossibly good. And oh, it lasts long, the throes of Ardyn’s orgasm rocking his body and every muscle within clenching around Prompto’s cock. He lets Ardyn ride it out, gives another several firm thrusts to grind against his prostate, and then he’s pulling out with his demand. “Roll over.”

Prompto’s cock is sloppy with his own cum he’s emptied throughout their rut, but this climax feels particularly lovely, complimented by Ardyn’s face - desperate and whorish, with an open, wanting mouth as Prompto straddles his torso and cums long and hard, heedless to the mess he makes. He paints Ardyn’s lips with his load, with all the haphazard precision of a drunken artist, taking great pride in the spurts that land as far up as Ardyn’s eyebrow and hairline.

“My darling” Ardyn gasps, “that was simply divine.”

They both collapse on the bed, filthy and sated. Together they catch their breath over the sound of the sea and distant cries of gulls. For a moment, they may have even fallen asleep. Neither knows how much time passes, but eventually, Prompto speaks.

“I’m hungry.”

-

The host seats them exactly how Ardyn requests - a corner for two at the private Lucian Star restaurant in Galdin Quay, away from the busy foot-traffic and tucked on a lower dock by the sea. It is the picture-perfect slice of intimacy, with the sound of gentle waves in the sea heard above the distant rifts of jazz from the upper dock. 

A picture-perfect ensemble of local fare adorning every spot of the table; fresh mussels bathed in tomato sauce and garlic, chickatrice so lovingly roasted it falls off the bone, grilled barramundi of the rarest and most prized catch with its crispy and delicate outer skin and de-boned with skill. And Prompto - oh, Prompto, the picture-perfect face to stare at across from it all.

A different creature altogether outside the bedroom, Prompto has slowly melted back into his bashful, stumbling self; nothing quite like the animalistic fuck-machine that sent Ardyn into a desperate euphoria he could live in forever. He’s a charming and peculiar thing, a complex bundle of youth that keeps Ardyn coming back, and coming, again and again. This ritual of theirs has become nearly staple, and he has yet to grow tired of it. Treating Prompto to lavish evenings at hotels for rousing sex and a fabulous dinner after has become a favorite ritual of his ever since signing on to this little road trip for His Highness and company.

The plates served at this particular bistro are sized like that of tapas, and the food and wine flows as easily as conversation. With Ardyn ever the loquacious presence and Prompto, ever starry-eyed at the man’s tales from hither thither and yon, neither of them notice when dusk bleeds into deep night until the moon dances on the waves. When a server walks by with a cart of savory marinated meats, Ardyn waves his hand to say, “We’ll take a little of everything.”

Prompto, as it turns out, takes a liking to the wild duck. Seared flawlessly and marinated just right; not a hint of game to its texture, with the bold of its rareness complimented by the citrus sauce drizzled across the crisp of its outer layer. As soon as it hits Prompto’s tongue he makes a little soft sound that does all sorts of things to Ardyn from across the table.

“Good?” he prods, leisurely slicing into his own sampling. Prompto is already digging back into the plush meat before he even swallows.

“Incredible,” he manages when he finishes. “I’ve never had anything like this in my life.”

Ardyn brings his fork to his lips and he smiles around the silver. “I’ll be sure to tell that to our friend Ignis,” he muses once he swallows, and washes down the tasty idea with the wine. 

“Good idea! He’d probably want to try and recreate it.”

“How precious. It would be a valiant effort indeed,” Ardyn refills Prompto’s wine glass, and toasts for the umpteenth time. The candle flame through the wide-mouthed wine glass lights the cabernet like blood. “Ignis surrenders countless savory joys for the sake of his own ego. No matter; he is not who I desire to see across a dinner table. I have exactly who I want, where I want.” The raw velvet in his voice is softened further by the wine. He thinks of Ignis toiling away at a camp stove, and it warms him in ways nothing else quite can. 

He signals for the check. Dessert is later.

The black card is heavy in Prompto’s hands when he holds it, a sound of awe escaping his mouth. “This is one of those Real Deal things,” he comments, a quiet wonder in his words. “Never thought I’d hold one of these babies in real life.”

Ardyn cannot decide what is more charming - Prompto’s unabashed praise that goes straight to his ego, or the way Prompto’s face looks bathed in the candlelight. “It is one of the many perks of my position,” he says, his voice a sated drawl as he humors Prompto. “And does so allow me the luxury of spoiling whomever I please.”

When Prompto laughs, it’s a quiet sound. He averts his eyes back down to the card, as if to decipher how one piece of plastic could hold so much wealth. “Guess I’m pretty lucky, then, huh.”

“On the contrary, it is I who played right by whatever hand I was dealt.” A thoughtful hum, as Ardyn reaches across to pluck the card from Prompto’s hand and tuck into the check; when Prompto reaches for it, genuinely curious, Ardyn swats it away. “No peeking,” he chastises, before handing it off to the ever-attentive waiter lurking just far enough away to allow privacy, yet close enough to not waste a second of their time. “It is, after all, the eve of your birthday, Prompto. You must allow someone to treat you proper, and treat you right.”

Night has since settled from when they first started. Six courses and several hours later find them sated with clean plates and empty wine glasses; the latter of which has placed a most delectable blush on the face of Ardyn’s little dinner date. Ardyn cannot resist the temptation, and reaches across the table to cup Prompto’s face in his hand. Gorgeous, Ardyn thinks; everything about Prompto just screams for him to spoil, to lavish, to adorn in affection and treat with the sinful pull of desire. Where Prompto looks skyward to see the stars, Ardyn sees a prized collection of jewels ripe to pluck from the very night itself, and shower the little darling in all its glory. 

“Was everything to your liking, pet?” Ardyn asks. Prompto nods, gesturing to his empty plate - the last standing of many before it in what was one of the most prized menus throughout all of Lucis. 

“I’ll say. This was spectacular.”

“Only the best, for you.”

\-----

Winter in Lestallum is mild. Surely, it’s a relief from the usual blistering climate. It does little to stay the crowds, however, and if anything the market is even more congested than in the local crop on-season. Despite this, it’s still a joy to wander and let off a bit of creative steam for ingredient connoisseurs such as Ignis Scientia. It isn’t unusual for him to get lost within the winding tents mushroomed along the bazaar and look up to find night has fallen.

But not today.

Today, he’s on a very specific, time-sensitive mission.

He navigates through the market with a seamless precision, eyes constantly searching and scanning left and right for merchants that sell exactly - exactly - what he needs. The crowds are no easy feat to navigate through, but with his narrow, lithe frame and clever footwork, he clears the mission in less than an hour. A success, considering the task at hand: baking Prompto the perfect birthday cake, and before he gets back from Galdin Quay with Ardyn.

_Ardyn._

The royal chancellor’s presence still rubs him the wrong way with every fibre of his being. Something about the older man fizzles away at the usually commendable self-restraint Ignis has built up over the course of over two decades. This bet between them has only ignited that fizzle further, and an inferno swells within Ignis that has propelled him to this very mission.

In a way, though, he must admit to himself and only himself: he loves a challenge, and rarely is he ever presented with one. 

But more than he loves a challenge, Ignis loves to win.

The Leville Hotel’s premium suites are outfitted with their own full kitchens which are suitable enough. Ignis prides his cooking and baking on the foundation that he doesn’t need anything ostentatious to create something unforgettable. Though the royal kitchens were equipped with only the best, Ignis needs simply a burner and a stove, and the rest is smooth sailing. A painter has his canvas. A writer, his paper. And Ignis? He has his kitchen; any kitchen will do.

He knows the recipe by heart. He’s done this before.

Chocolate, winterberries, shredded cocoa, and fresh hand-whipped creme all come together for a decadent three-layer cake sprinkled with pomegranate arils, which pepper the chocolate glaze of the topmost layer like rubies. It takes about an hour to prep, and an hour to bake. By the time the cake layers are in the oven, Ignis hand-whips the fresh yoghurt creme and slices the berries.

The sun slants through the shutters of the Leville’s suite when the cakes are finished, and Ignis tests each of them with a toothpick to ensure their perfection.

Not too dry, not too damp. The moisture kept beautifully. Ignis takes a look at the clock, then to his phone. A text from Prompto informs him they are just about thirty minutes out.

A bit earlier than he expected, but no matter. He should arrive just in time for it to cool. 

The cake is something special, something Prompto had said in passing was the best dessert he’d ever had. It was three years ago, in Insomnia, and he’d brought it over to Prompto’s apartment as leftovers from a celebration at the castle. Igins would never admit it lest a dagger were to his neck, but Prompto was always welcome company to Ignis after the drudgery of formal dinners. It was truly the only positive to enduring the long, formal gatherings and propriety that often gets too stale for him to handle.

He never realized it was getting too much for him until Prompto showed up in his life through Noctis, and Ignis truly learned what tension he was holding all this time. Prompto’s company is like the release of a breath he never knew he’d been holding. Ignis pours himself another glass of red wine, the number of which he’s not been entirely paying attention to, and takes a generous sip.

So lost in his reverie, so focused on the task at hand of adding the creme and layering the cake, Ignis misses the following text from Prompto: _Ardyn’s speeding lmaoo be there in 10 if I don’t die!_

Before Ignis knows it, Prompto’s knocking at the door.

“I didn’t need the room number to know where you are. I just followed my nose.”

Ignis embraces Prompto upon his entry, placing a fond peck on his freckled cheek. His hair is windswept, and his smile, genuine.

“You’re here just in time. Happy birthday, Prompto,” Ignis’ smiles softly as he greets his lover. 

“It smells amazing. Seriously, is this what you’ve been doing all day?”

“Not all day. It’s quite straightforward once you get the hang of it.”

The redolence of chocolate lingers in the air, robust and warm. Ignis sees the way Prompto’s eyes light up as he peeks over the advisor’s shoulder to the cake in question. “Oh--no way, Iggy. You didn’t!”

“Oh, but I always do, and I did.”

Prompto runs over to the round table in the suite’s center to admire his cake. “Holy crap. You really did.” He turns to Ignis, and his sincere smile all at once eases any tension Ignis had, that he didn’t even realize was there. It draws Ignis to him, and together they peek at the table. The cake is layered already with the creme, and beside it are three bowls: one with the berries, one with the arils, and the other with the chocolate glaze.

“I would have prepared it all for you, but--”

Prompto interrupts him with a swift kiss to his lips. “It’s perfect. I-- Oh...” he goes in for another experimental kiss, this one deeper than the last. “Wine tonight?” His smile is cheeky and he licks Ignis’ mouth quickly, tasting the merlot on his own tongue. Ignis feels the flush rise to his face, and gestures to the bottle on the table.

“I may have gotten a bit carried away while it was in the oven.”

Prompto’s eyes flicker with interest, and they trail down to the low cut of Ignis’ shirt, lingering at the red flush that has traveled there. Lestallum may be mild in the winter, but oh, the way Prompto looks at him now makes it feel like the dead of summer.

“You’re cute, Iggy. Fuck,” Prompto curses, bringing Ignis in for another kiss. Ignis sinks into it, readily, too readily. He lets Prompto sample the wine from his tongue, closing his eyes, before pausing.

“Wait.”

Ignis removes his glasses, gingerly, and places them on the table. “I’d rather not have a repeat of last time,” he says. Prompto laughs as they both recall the night they made out so hard Ignis’ spectacles broke. It had been worth it, but once was enough.

“Good call. You know what else is a good call?” he asks, and the way his voice lowers sends that flush down between Ignis’ legs. He loves it when Prompto starts to use that voice. Loves it more when Prompto reaches for the bowl of fruit on the table, to dip a blackberry in the chocolate glaze and hold to Ignis’ lips. “This. Open your mouth for me, Iggy.”

It's a special brand of alluring when Prompto's voice lowers like that, just for him. Ignis lets Prompto’s thumb push the fruit past his lips and onto his tongue, where Prompto chases it with his own. They kiss, long, and as their tongues slide against each other they wear down the blackberry until it is nothing but sweet juice between them. Tenderly, Prompto nips at Ignis’ lip, and Ignis holds back a moan but lets out a sigh. 

Ignis watches as Prompto, giddy from the kiss, dips his finger in the bowl of chocolate and sucks it all off completely clean. The sight is every bit as erotic as Prompto intended it to be; he’s so incredibly unassuming outside of closed doors, but the minx that comes alive when they’re alone...Ignis cannot deny him anything. 

“Gonna let me blow out that birthday candle?” Prompto murmurs. His lips are stained berry-red from their kiss, and Ignis can only nod.

\---

There’s something unprecedented about sucking Ignis’ cock. Prompto couldn’t name a single thing on earth he likes in his mouth more than the man whose legs he’s kneeling between in that very moment. Ignis, spread-legged on the edge of the bed, with his clothes still fully on and only his erection gripped in Prompto’s hands, is everything Prompto could ever ask for on his birthday.

He makes love to Ignis’ cock with his mouth like a man at worship, and it brings him back to those same nights with his fleshlight, where he’d fuck it relentlessly with one hand and suck on a dildo with the other. It was a filthy teenage dream of his to suck a cock like Ignis’; it was a filthy teenage dream of his that it was, exactly, Ignis’ cock, before any of this began, before any cute young royal advisor starting running tasty leftovers and handmade pastries to his apartment late at night. Ignis was always what Prompto always wanted.

To have him now, here, his--all his--brings Prompto back into that headspace Ardyn took him to last night, only now, Prompto is here to serve. Where Ardyn begs to be used, Prompto kneels at Ignis’ feet in this moment to pleasure him, to milk sounds out of him that would only visit Prompto in his wildest dreams. He can take from Ignis later. And he will. For now, all Prompto wants is cock in his mouth.

Here, between Ignis’ legs, Prompto lets himself zone out completely. The texture, the taste, he savors it all, heedless to the sight he makes and the fact he knows his eyes flutter to the back of his head when he indulges in sucking on his balls. 

“Prompto--oh, Prompto.”

Ignis is not a man of obscenities. Well, not often. Prompto usually knows he’s doing a particularly good job when one slips forth, but, there’s plenty of time for that. With one last, long suck to his balls, Prompto kisses the weeping head of Ignis’ cock and laps up the precum there.

“Get on the bed. Take off your clothes, Iggy, I wanna sixty-nine.”

Ignis, again, does as he’s told. He looks so good when he does, Prompto thinks. They both shuck their clothes in record time, and make themselves comfortable on the expanse of the bed, Prompto above him at the headboard and Ignis, below him at the foot. 

“Oh,” Ignis comments when Prompto bares his smooth ass to his face. “This is a clever touch.” Prompto smiles when he feels Ignis’ finger trace the buttplug in his hole. He clenches around it teasingly.

“Been there since morning.” A cute little wiggle, needy and teasing accompanies it. “You can have it if you’re good.”

Neither man needs further coaxing; they take each other into their mouths in unison, and moan at the sensation. Prompto’s whines come quietly, in the back of his throat, and he can’t help but let them out with every thrust of Ignis’ cock into it. It’s divine. It’s everything. It’s Ignis’ gorgeous cock coupled with Ignis’ gorgeous mouth working magic between his own legs. It’s filthy and perfect, and Prompto grinds down on Ignis' face in desperate, almost cheeky earnest.

It’s fine. He knows Ignis doesn’t have a gag reflex.

They rock into each other at a slow, leisurely pace. There’s no rush here. There’s no mission, no hunt, nothing to be done for another several days in this lovely little stretch of downtime they may not get again. And fuck it all, it’s Prompto’s damn birthday.

He catches his breath in little gasps as Ignis keeps working him. The man hasn’t taken a break since he started, and Prompto has no idea when that was. He doesn’t fucking care. He tucks his chin to his chest to see below him, how Ignis works, jaw stretched around his cock and his hand working in tandem with it to create seamless pleasure, seamless strokes, seamless bond of tongue and flesh. Prompto could fuck into it forever and never get bored.

“You’re my favorite hole to fuck, Iggy,” Prompto can’t help but moan as he watches, still stroking Ignis’ erection fondly. He could keep sucking, but Ignis can wait. Ignis likes to wait. So Prompto widens his legs, and fucks deeper into his throat. “Fuck. Love how you take me like this. Every inch, baby.”

Ignis’ throat tightens and contracts with the effort. He doesn’t complain. He doesn’t ask for a break. He could take one if he needed it, but Prompto won’t offer. He lets that familiar little smirk tease the edge of his lips, and raises his hips to watch the entirety of his cock pull from Ignis’ mouth. “So pretty like that,” Prompto praises, breathless. “Look at you.” He keeps raising his hips until the tip rests at Ignis’ lips, and the royal advisor takes a few gulps of air. Prompto kisses Ignis’ cock adoringly once, twice, three times before taking it back in, all the way to the root. 

And finally, Ignis says it. “Fuck. Prompto, yes. Just like that-- _oh_.”

Prompto gives it another few rounds before pulling off. “Pretty words, Iggy. But if you’re talking, who’s sucking my cock?”

And then that wet, loyal warmth wraps around his girth again, and all is well.

When Prompto cums, he does so with Ignis cock in his hand. He doesn’t stroke. He keeps it still, keeps the man’s erection hard and leaking, and grinds down onto Ignis’ mouth while looking back and down at him. “Cumming, cumming, _fuck, cumming so hard-_ -” and Prompto lets out a sound through his teeth as he fills Ignis’ throat with his load, watches him take it with eyes shut in concentration, throat taut with the effort. Everything about Ignis is so composed; Prompto loves seeing it even in the bedroom, where he does everything as told, perfectly. 

He rewards Ignis by letting him cum inside. Prompto rides him on the bed, bouncing happily on Ignis’ cock, and lets Ignis fuck him up til he bursts. They kiss when he cums, just how Ignis likes, and Prompto nips at the other man’s lips until they’re as red as the blackberry juice. 

When they collapse on the bed, Prompto clenches, keeping the cum tucked inside. It would be nice to save it as further lube for a second round, but that’s not entirely on his mind right now. He’s barely caught his breath before he whips his head up from the bed to the table across the room.

“I have an awesome idea.”

Giddy from the great sex and the rest of the evening for themselves, Ignis and Prompto enjoy the cake on the bed, naked and happy and together.

\----

“Ignis, you’re a sharp man. But I do wish you’d get to the point.”

“My point is that nothing bought can hold a candle to something made. My cooking is what brought Prompto and I together. I intend to keep it that way.”

“And shelter him from what else the world has to offer? A pity, that. It bodes unbecoming of a man in your standing to keep one so...sheltered.”

“Just as much does it bode trite to pay another to prepare something that could be done by one’s own hand.”

“Hey, uh, guys?” Prompto blinks at them from the hotel bed. This game has gone on for weeks now, back and forth. Decadent dinners out, intimate and romantic homemade dinners in, and fabulous sex at every corner of Eos. It’s been a whirlwind, but now that the two men are turning this bet into a near-brawl, Prompto has to put on the brakes. Ignis and Ardyn glance at him, fire still in their eyes ignited by the other. “There’s really no need to fight over this. I think I’ve come to my conclusion.”

Both men turn from each other to face Prompto fully. The blonde shrugs.

“My conclusion is ...I think this bed is big enough for three.”

_Fin_

**Author's Note:**

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